Someone Saved My Life Tonight
by Nexxys09
Summary: A crucial turn of events at Amon Hen where one member of the company fights a war for his soul and another is given a second chance for life. (Chpt 6 added!)
1. Siege at Amon Hen

*Greetings all! This is my first Lord of the Rings fanfic, so please excuse if I am lax in some of the details. I wished that both J.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson had gone into more character depth with Legolas and Boromir and as they had not, I thought to write my own fic. This takes place just as the Company is leaving Lothlorien and just before Amon Hen. Please post your reviews! I love getting feedback!*  
  
On a separate note, I apologize for my butchered attempts at elvish speak. I will go back later and add things in elven, so until then I'm sorry to say that it is all in English. ________________________________________________________________________  
  
Just below the barren and ravaged soil of Isengard burned a fire that could rival the heat of the sun itself.  
  
Longer than anyone could remember, Isengard had been a place of tranquility. Nestled in the strong trees on the edge of Fangorn forest, the city had stood like a peaceful sentinel, a home of wisdom. Now it lie bleeding, cracks and crevasses torn deep below its soil. Within those cracks housed a war manufactory. Orcs and goblin alike toiled through the hours, producing thousands of crude and ghastly weapons. Unearthly roars bubbled from beneath in the breeding grounds as magic once used for good twisted human and orc into killing machines.  
  
Their leader stood by the wizard as they surveyed its progress.  
  
"Do you know how the orcs first came into being?" Saruman asked, his grey eyes peering into the burning flames as trees were hacked for its fuel. "They were elves once, taken by the dark powers, tortured ..."  
  
The Uruk-hai at his shoulder made no comment upon his words, yet he could feel the anger radiating from his dark muscled body.  
  
"...mutilated..."  
  
The hatred clenched in his fang-like teeth.  
  
"A ruined and terrible fall of life..."  
  
A deep growl rattled in the beast's chest and his yellow-tinted eyes narrowed. The furnace that fueled such a war machine could not hold a candle to the burning flames of hatred in those evil eyes.  
  
A pleased smile graced the wizard's elderly face, "And now perfected, my fighting Uruk-hai." He turned to his general at his shoulder. "Now, whom do you serve?"  
  
************  
  
With a deep sigh, Aragorn set Andruil upon the banks of Amon Hen. Lothlorien had been a much needed respite after the ambush in Moria and the loss of Gandalf yet the soreness in his spine as he stood told him that it was not nearly long enough. The weariness was visible in every eye of the Company. Even Legolas, who had been tireless since the journey began, did not stand as proudly as he had before. Yes, even the elf looked weary, distant, as if distracted.  
  
"We shall rest here and travel upon nightfall," he commanded, setting his gear down.  
  
Merry and Pippin complied without a word, which only proved to the Ranger more that rest was indeed needed. They hadn't complained about missing a meal since Moria. His chest tightened at the thought. Gimli continued with his loud insisting that his route was one of madness and that they would find rest in their deaths, which was an almost certainty if they followed that course. Between rants, the elf approached, his eyes upon the river.  
  
"We should leave now," he quietly insisted, his sea-colored eyes peering through the foliage of the banks, searching.  
  
"No," Aragorn countered, "Orcs patrol the Eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."  
  
The ranger's words reflected off of the troubled elf like a minor wave upon solid rock, "It is not the eastern shore that worries me." His voice trailed off as that piercing gaze waxed over in distress. "A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near, I can feel it."  
  
Legolas's cryptic words seeped the weariness from the ranger as danger renewed his alertness. His voice dropped to a mere whisper as to not alarm the rest of the Company. "What do you sense?"  
  
Slowly, the elf's fair head turned from the river shores to the camp, his eyes still carrying that far away look, till they settled upon Boromir's abandoned shield.  
  
"Death," he answered, his voice barely audible over the flowing river. "Death marches toward us..."  
  
************  
  
(elsewhere in the ruins of Amon Hen)  
  
"...What chance do you think you have?" Boromir spit the words, his eyes wild and dangerous as they glared upon the hobbit. Slowly he advanced upon Frodo, the object of his desires hanging by a silver chain around the small creature's neck. "They will find you, they will take the ring, and you will beg for death before the end!"  
  
Fright seized the air in Frodo's lungs, clutching it tight in its icy grip. He had stood against goblins, against orcs, and managed to even survive against a cave troll. Yet Boromir, Steward of Gondor, made him fear. His eyes locked upon the delirious warrior Frodo crept backwards, his pulse racing.  
  
"It could have been mine!" the warrior hissed, images of glory and battle floating in his mind with the poisoned kiss of the One Ring. "It should have been mine! Give it to me!!"  
  
Barely dodging Boromir's wild grasp, Frodo nearly tripped over a tree root, desperate to run. Without thinking, he reached for the ring around his neck, now warm to the touch, and slipped it upon his finger. In a blink of an eye, the young hobbit vanished from sight.  
  
"Frodo?!?" the warrior growled, reaching madly through the air for the hobbit. He whipped his gaze about to find the creature, his sandy-blonde hair sticking to his sweat-glazed face in golden streaks. Finding nothing but air between his clawed fingers, the warrior howled his rage to the skies. "CURSE YOU!!!"  
  
His scream tore at his lungs, leaving him heaving for breath, kneeling upon the ground. His head throbbed from screaming so loud, and yet his bellow seemed to have silence the other voices in his mind as he was once more left with himself ... and his actions.  
  
Fear seized his heart as horror twisted his stomach. Boromir leaned over, gagging in revulsion, as if he could retch the ring's sweet poison from his soul but nothing would come out. For the first time in his life, Boromir felt completely alone. And for the first time since he was a child, the Son of Gondor began to cry. "Frodo ... help me ..."  
  
Deep in the distance, in the thicket surrounding him, his plea for help fell upon unsympathetic ears as a grisly black hand reached for an arrow...  
  
*********** (at the ruins)  
  
"...would you take it?" Frodo asked bitterly, the ring sitting upon the hobbit's hand with all the regality of a wedding band upon a pillow. The gleam of the golden band danced in the ranger's eyes. "Or would you destroy it?"The hobbit's chestnut eyes watched Aragorn with tired wariness. At this point, it almost didn't matter to Frodo if the ranger took the ring or not. He was tired of watching his friends ravaged and destroyed by this horrid trinket. A part of him wanted Aragorn to take the ring. Let him fall under its spell. Let him destroy the world with it. At least then this whole nightmare was over. Perhaps Gimli was right, perhaps he could find the rest he wanted so badly in the crib of his grave. He doubted that he could even stop Aragorn from taking it if the ranger so wanted. Only with the ring's cloak of invisibility was he able to escape Boromir.  
  
Moments passed at Aragorn's glittering eyes flickered from the ring to the hobbit's eyes. His hand reached for the ring and the breath stopped in Frodo's throat, but the ranger's hand merely closed his own over the ring. Perplexed, the hobbit glanced up at Aragorn's face, but the hesitancy was stripped from his countenance. Instead, he saw the brave, loyal look that the ranger had upon his face when he pledged his sword to him at the council.  
  
"I would have followed you to the very fires of Mordor."  
  
Frodo nodded sadly, a tear slipping from his weary, troubled eyes. "I know," he answered, the words coming out with difficulty. He knew what he had to do. He just didn't know if he could do it alone.  
  
A warm hand gripped his shoulder and the hobbit looked up into soulful eyes that graced him with a look of compassion. An unspoken goodbye exchanged between them and as the hobbit stepped back to leave, a gleam of blue light broke that moment.  
  
Aragorn stared at Frodo's scabbard, the kindness fading from his face to be replaced with alarm. "Go," he hissed, reaching for his sword as he whipped about to face the plains around them. "Go!"  
  
Without warning, a swarm of blackness rushed upon them with glowing yellow eyes.  
  
**********  
  
The peaceful silence of Amon Hen was shattered by the clanging of steel upon steel as human and uruk-hai fought viciously upon the plains. Anduril gleamed in the hot afternoon sun, slashing with the trained arm of the ranger as he fought madly to keep back the number of uruk-hai who had taken them by surprise. Again and again his sword bit into the flesh of this new enemy yet they kept coming, unaware of the blood that ran down their rough hides. Alarm flowed through his veins as Aragorn's sword arm nearly broke under a mighty blow from yet another uruk-hai. His arm numb from the strike, the ranger could barely throw his free arm over his face to shield himself as the grisly beast brought his sword down upon him.  
  
Aragorn cried out in pain as the crude sword tore the flesh of his left forearm. Yet he didn't have time to do much else as the uruk-hai whirled his blade around, ready to run him through.  
  
A guttural war cry sounded behind him and before Aragorn could wonder what the afterlife might be like, the uruk-hai's sword was cleaved in two by the brute strength of the dwarf and his battle axe.  
  
"Durin's beard!" Gimli swore as his axe met the flesh of another uruk-hai's throat, "What sort of devilry are these things?"  
  
Fighting the pain radiating from his left arm, Aragorn twisted to strike another enemy. "Such an enemy could only be a spawn of Sauron!" he answered, his sword clashing in mid-air. "Where is Frodo?!?"  
  
"Gone," Gimli answered as he swung at a new uruk-hai's knees, cleaving one in half. "He took off as I arrived."  
  
"We must not let these things reach him!"  
  
"Then on my cousin's honor, they will not harm a hair on his head," Gimi swore his oath as he freed his axe from the body of a cleaved uruk-hai at his feet. He was a moment too late as the edge of a blade nicked him above his eyebrow, deflecting off his helmet before it could cause fatal damage. The dwarf grunted in pain and brought his axe up in an upward slash and the uruk-hai never got up again. "Not that I miss him, but where is that blasted elf when you need him??"  
  
*************** 


	2. The Fallen

(sorry, all, if this one is a bit short. It's nearly 2am and I wanted to get a little more done so this is a teaser for now. I hope you like it!) **************************  
  
It seems wrong, somehow...  
  
This thought ran continually through Merry's mind as the two hobbits ran for their lives from the swarm of dark-skinned beasts that hunted them. In this midst of terror and panic, the whole situation seemed unreal to the young hobbit. These orc-ish beings looked like something out of a fevered nightmare, bred by an evil darkness. An yet here they were, in the broad daylight, as if the day didn't care what would happen to them once these things got their hands on them.  
  
Along side of him, poor Pippin gasped for breath as the two twisted and turned in hopes of eluding these demon-like beings in the slalom of trees, but their pursuers were not to be shaken from their trail. With each passing moment, the army was gaining upon them. A tree root twisted Merry's feet under him painfully, but the whispered feel of razor-like claws on his back pushed him past his pain and fueled him to run.  
  
But Pippin was not so fortunate. With a cry, Pippin fell, tripped by the same branch that had tangled Merry.  
  
"Pippin!" Merry cried, turning to reach a hand towards to his friend. Yet his compassion would cost them their freedom as the hoard of uruk-hai closed on them in that moment. Two brawny soldiers hauled them both to their feet and the terrified hobbits found themselves staring into the yellow eyes of their captors.  
  
"Leave them alive!" one of them barked. "The wizard wants them brought back whole."  
  
Gasping for breath, the two hobbits shared a glance. In that moment, they weren't sure what was worse, dying by the hands of these creatures, or facing whatever this wizard had in store for them. Desperate for their freedom, Merry and Pippin began to struggle, biting, punching and kicking any body part they could find. One uruk-hai who held onto Pippin roared as the hobbit's foot connected sharply with his groin and the young hobbit found himself slammed face first into the muddy ground for his trouble.  
  
"We don't need them both!" the wounded uruk-hai snapped, hauling the reeling hobbit to eye level.  
  
"The wizard wants them unspoiled!" the captain rebuked.  
  
The uruk-hai leader's order bounced off of the creature like a wave upon a shore. The soldier gripped Pippin by the throat with one hand and clutched the hobbit's arm in the other. "He can survive on one arm," the uruk-hai hissed, gripping both neck and arm and pulling. Merry screamed his friend's name as Pippin felt his arm being torn from its socket.  
  
A war cry split the air as a brandished sword cleaved through flesh and bone. Suddenly Pippin fell to the ground as the uruk-hai's body fell to one side of him, its severed head to his other. Boromir continued his assault, his sword gleaming in the midday sun as he fought like a man possessed. Before Merry's captor could turn to defend himself, his arm was cleaved from his body and Merry grabbed Pippin and ran.  
  
"After them!!" the leader howled, taking up his sword to face Boromir head on. Five stood off against the warrior as four more took off after the two hobbits. The man fought well, but just barely managed to keep himself safe as the assault from the five uruk-hai weakened his sword arm and one managed to nick his shoulder, drawing blood. Boromir recoiled and turned to find a sword descending upon him. He closed his eyes and threw up his hands as a meager defense as the warrior braced himself for the attack.  
  
Suddenly, the sword halted in its deadly path and Boromir looked through the shield of his arms to find an arrow pierced through the eye of his would-be killer. The warrior allowed himself but one exhale of relief before he continued his assault. Now, the fight was much more matched as Legolas's arrows took out two more.  
  
Now only the leader stood before them, his comrades littering the ground with their corpses. Boromir and Legolas, now side by side, advanced upon him.  
  
"Who are you?" Boromir growled, his blood smeared blade held before him. Both man and elf slowly approached the leader, but the uruk-hai merely snarled at the question, its sword held at the ready. The creature had made it clear that it would see death before answering his questions.  
  
"Who sent you?" the warrior asked, louder and more vehemently. Yet they were met by the same insurgent glare. The uruk-hai's gaze was shifting between elf and man, deciding which it would attack first, when the creature suddenly stared at a point between the two warriors and that evil snarl melted into a menacing grin.  
  
A small noise in a distance behind Legolas warned the elf only too late as a crude black arrow split the distance and thudded into the man's chest. "Boromir!"  
  
The man's breath caught in his chest as a line of fire cut through his chest. His eyes opened wide in excruciating pain as they slowly looked down to see the bloody tip of the arrow protruding from his chest.  
  
Time itself seemed to slow infinitely as the elf whirled to face the new attacker, cursing himself for being so unaware. In a smooth motion he brought up his elven blades to rush the uruk-hai in the trees but his attack was cut short as the broad side of a crude sword slammed against the side of his head, sending him reeling to the ground with a cry of pain.  
  
Boromir barely registered the attack upon the elf or the threat of being pinched between the two uruk-hai as his whole world seem to shrink to nothing more than the pain in his chest and the blood in his lungs. Sounds around him muted into white noise as the only sound in his head was that of his heart's beat slowing. He turned to try to help the barely conscious elf but another arrow split the air and pierced his stomach.  
  
Legolas struggled to clear the blackness from his vision, horrified at the attack. The elf barely managed to raise his head when two vise-like hands seized him by the shoulders and hauled him to standing. He fought in vain to escape, but the uruk-hai's grip was relentless and held him rooted to the spot to watch the horror play before him.  
  
The uruk-hai assassin grinned as he watched the warrior slump to his knees, choking as he gasped for breath from the blood pooling in his pierced lungs. He strolled to the restrained elf and grabbed his chin with bruising strength. "Watch," he hissed, hatred evident in his vile voice, "what will happen to all those who oppose the Dark Lord."  
  
Legolas watched in abject horror as the uruk-hai assassin picked up the leader's crude sword and approached the dying warrior. Panic lent the elf strength as he struggled against his captor but he could not free himself. He watched, helpless, as Boromir slowly raised his head to look his killer in the eye. The fear was gone from the man's face, and while his dying body was leeched of life, his eyes gleamed pure and strong as he stared the uruk- hai down.  
  
For a long moment, no one moved. Then the assassin shoved the blade through the warrior's heart and Boromir fell to the ground, never to get up again.  
  
"NOOO!!!!"  
  
Legolas heart was racing in his chest and the elf barely registered that the throat-tearing scream had been his until the assassin turned and backhanded him so harshly that it nearly broke his captor's hold on him. A second uruk-hai joined the scene and grabbed the elf by one arm while his captor gripped the other with one hand and covered the elf's mouth harshly with the other. The assassin approached the bound and gagged elf, picking up one of Legolas's silver blade to hold the tip at the elf's throat. "Vile elf!" the uruk-hai hissed in his ear. "How I will love mutilating your kind when we take the havens!" The tip of the blade bit into the elf's pale, smooth skin, drawing forth a bead of crimson blood. And for the first time in all his two thousand years, Legolas contemplated his own imminent death.  
  
"We have them!" a new voice broke into the scene, halting the press of the blade. Around the assassin, Legolas watched with a sinking heart as more uruk-hai entered the glade, holding captive Aragorn, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo.  
  
The assassin turned from the elf to face the soldiers. "Have you found the ring?"  
  
Frodo's captor lifted his hand and from it dangled the gold band upon the humble chain. Legolas's breath seized in his throat.  
  
Grinning in victory, the assassin moved forward and took the chain from the uruk-hai. Slowly, the assassin lifted his hand to stare at the gold band, transfixed by its power. A low growl rumbled in the uruk-hai's chest as the golden gleam reflected in its yellow eyes. The assassin no longer seemed to know where it was, so lost was it in the world that the ring seemed to take him to. He raised his black claw to slip the dangling ring upon his finger. "Such power," it hissed, "would make me stronger than Sauron himself."  
  
Frodo jerked in his captor's hold with a cry as the ring's voice grew steadily in his mind. "It shares its power not!" the hobbit screamed, "It brings nothing but torture to he who wears it!"  
  
The hobbit's warning seemed to draw the uruk-hai from the ring's spell as he looked upon Frodo with interest.  
  
Lost in his panic, the hobbit continued. "It mutilated the last being to hold it, it will surely do the same to you!"  
  
"...torture..." the assassin echoed, lost in a memory, his gaze shifting from the ring to the captive elf. Slowly he stepped towards Legolas. "...mutilated..."  
  
For a moment the elf was still, until the assassin was so close that he could see the malice burning in the creature's eyes and realization dawned upon him. Legolas struggled against his captors in absolute fear.  
  
"Give me the elf's hand," the assassin ordered. 


	3. On the Turning Away

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(Welcome all to another installment! In case I forgot to mention it at the beginning of this saga: I do not own these characters. I make no money off of this. All glory and fame go to J.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them to play out the little story idea that's been running through my head for the last while. Please review! I love getting feedback!!)  
  
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A cold chill seized the elf's flesh as his eyes locked upon the glittering ring in the uruk-hai's hands. The world itself seemed to narrow to only the ring and the black hand that brought it ever closer. Legolas could hear the members of the fellowship scream in protest but it was as if he were hearing it through a bell jar. A slithery voice played in his mind, growing ever louder as the ring approached him.  
  
...lllegolasss....  
  
Hearing his name in such a sinister tongue in his mind, the elf struggled fiercely against his captors, wanting nothing more than to run for his life, his soul. Legolas pulled and twisted to free himself, but it awarded him nothing more than abraded skin.  
  
"Hold him!" the uruk-hai assassin barked and Legolas found he could not move, save for his arm that was held out before him by the terrible grip of the demonic creature. Cruelly, the uruk-hai tried to pry the elf's fingers open to accept the ring but Legolas would not give.  
  
...cccan't runnn.... the voice laughed, near screaming in his mind. The ring was mere inches from his fingers. ...cccan't fightttt....  
  
Spurred by a terror he had never felt in all his two thousand years of living, Legolas let loose with one last attack. Since his arms were restrained, the elf launched a savage kick that caught the assassin in the groin, nearly doubling the uruk-hai in two in pain. The assassin roared and fell to his knees, giving Legolas the distraction he needed to pull free from his stunned captors. Lightning flowed through his veins as the elf made to run, but his eye caught hold of the ring lying in the injured uruk- hai's hand and it stopped him cold.  
  
...llllegolasss....  
  
The voice captivated him so much that Legolas barely heard Gimli screaming his name as well. "Legolas!! by Durin's beard, run you dumb elf!!"  
  
The dwarf's words snapped him from the lure of the ring and the elf managed two steps before crying out as the brunt hilt of a sword collided sharply with his temple, spinning him to fall to the ground, blackness swimming before his eyes.  
  
Grunting with the force of moving with an injured groin, the assassin sheathed his sword and stomped over to the dazed elf, grabbing him brutally by his golden hair. The creature leaned in close to the elf's ear, his voice dripping with malice. "I would make you eat your own intestines right now, elf," he swore, "but I'd rather watch you suffer hells unknown as the ring tortures you!" He grabbed the elf's limp hand and thrust the ring upon the slender finger.  
  
Across the distance, Frodo screamed. Gimli struggled fiercely, unleashing all kinds of verbal assaults upon the uruk-hai. Aragon called out the elf's name.  
  
The uruk-hai, thoroughly pleased with itself, stood above the dazed elf, watching for the elf to react to the band of pure evil upon his finger. At last, this elf would pay for the pain he caused. Such evil upon so pure a creature would be worse than death, and the uruk-hai licked his lips as he waited for the ring to begin its torture of the elf.  
  
But the elf made no sound. Slowly, Legolas's head rocked side to side as he lay face down on the ground. A unearthly moan escaped the elf's lips as his head finally came to rest by his hand. The fellowship watched, breathless, as Legolas's unfocused eyes lost their dazed look and focused upon the band of gold about his finger. Those emerald eyes gazed upon the ring with a confused look upon his handsome face.  
  
The bloodthirsty grin upon the assassin's face quickly melted into one of perplexity as the elf slowly drew himself to sitting, never taking his eyes from the ring upon his hand, never blinking. It had expected the vile elf to be shrieking in pain by now, twisted in two by Sauron's power. Slowly, the uruk-hai reached for the handle of his sword as an unbidden thought came to its mind. If the ring hadn't destroyed the elf by now, then it had just given the full power of the Dark Lord into the hands of his enemy.  
  
Legolas didn't see the assassin reach for his blade. He couldn't hear his friends scream his name. All he could see was the band of gold upon his hand, a hand that looked like it no longer belonged to him. No longer warm and smooth, his hand appeared pale and cold adorned with the ring. All he could hear was the menacing voice in his mind. All he could feel was the overload of cold power exploding inside of him.  
  
...yyyyyou are mine nowwww....!  
  
The uruk-hai assassin had brought forth his sword but too late as the transfixed elf sucked in a deep breath and the tense silence was torn asunder by an unearthly scream.  
  
Man, dwarf, hobbit and uruk-hai found themselves blasted back by the scream as a powerful unseen force pulsed from the shrieking elf. Hands reached for their ears as the scream continued longer than humanly thought possible. Frodo, knocked free of his captor, gripped his ears and turned towards Aragorn who was blasted back as well. "What is happening to him?!?" But if the ranger could hear his question above the elf's shriek, he gave no answer.  
  
The look of fear on his chiseled face was answer enough.  
  
Finally the scream ended as Legolas, leeched of breath, slumped forward, his hand clutched to his chest.  
  
Aragorn was the first to recover, reaching for Anduril and slicing the head from his would-be captor. Following in suit, Gimli's axe found purchase in uruk-hai flesh, killing two before they could bear arms. Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin drew their swords against the uruk-hai and while it took them a little longer to kill their enemies, the ground was soon littered with the bodies of their adversaries.  
  
However, the assassin still stood, sword in hand.  
  
The uruk-hai looked from the fellowship, to the elf, then back to the fellowship. It could kill the hobbits and possibly the dwarf as well before the ranger could mark him, but what of the elf? Legolas still sat hunched over, the only movement coming from him was the harried rising and falling of his shoulders as the elf gasped for breath. In such a defenseless position, the uruk-hai figured that it could behead the vile creature and take the ring from his lifeless hand before the fellowship could face him in battle. Then, fueled by the power of Sauron himself, he would leech the souls from these pathetic creatures and make them beg for death. Yes. That would be what it would do.  
  
The assassin raised its sword high above Legolas's neck. "And to think I gave a vile elf the ring of power!" With a roar of disgust, the uruk-hai brought his sword down.  
  
Suddenly the sword stopped, frozen in place a foot above the elf's neck. Yellow eyes widened in shock, the uruk-hai struggled to move his sword but unseen hands held it firmly in place. "What sorcery is this?!"  
  
Almost in answer, the gasping elf snapped his head up to stare coldly at the assassin and the uruk-hai's words froze in its throat. The elf's eyes, once a fair green, were orbs of pure black, darker than any shadow the assassin had seen before. The elf's slim face now bore an expression of dark warning and those obsidian eyes narrowed dangerously. The hand that bore the ring, once clutched to his heaving chest, now aimed at the creature as if it were one of the elf's arrows. The ring gleamed upon the pale hand, giving the assassin perhaps a fraction of a second warning before fire flew from the elf's hand.  
  
The uruk-hai screamed in agony as flames raged its body, hotter than any forge could create. As the assassin burned, the elf slowly regained his feet, his black eyes locked upon the incinerating uruk-hai.  
  
And just as quickly as it had happened, it ended. The assassin's charred body fell to the ground, the flames slowly dissipating.  
  
For a long moment, no one moved. Six pairs of eyes stared at the elf in fear and disbelief, so wide that the white of the eyes seemed to eclipse the irises. Legolas did not move from where he stood over the body.  
  
Aragorn was the first to move, to speak. "Legolas," he called to his friend, taking a step forward. He struggled to keep the panic from his voice, his eyes upon the band of gold upon the elf's hand.  
  
Legolas turned around slowly at the sound of his name, but the elf did not answer his friend's summon. Gimli's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of Legolas's cold face and ebony eyes.  
  
Aragorn moved forward still, his hand outstretched towards the elf. "Legolas ... can you hear me?"  
  
Black eyes locked upon the ranger's blue eyes but still the elf did not speak.  
  
The ranger stepped closer, hand still outstretched. "Legolas, it is I, Aragorn."  
  
The elf did not blink.  
  
"Legolas ... the ring," Aragorn said, his voice strong, "Give me the ring."  
  
Slowly, the elf began to laugh. His voice was deeper and darker than it had ever been and the cold expression on his face belied any mirth.  
  
Aragorn's voice became stern. "Legolas...!"  
  
The laughing stopped as Aragorn was blasted back by an unseen force, throwing him to the ground.  
  
"Aragorn!" Sam cried, ready to run to the ranger's aid, but Frodo held him back.  
  
"No, Sam!" the hobbit warned. His eyes fixed upon Legolas. "We must be careful. Under the ring's power, there is no telling what it will use Legolas to do."  
  
Picking himself up from the ground, Aragorn cradled his bruised shoulder, his eyes locked upon the elf. "Legolas, fight this my friend! Take off the ring!"  
  
But Legolas was beyond hearing. He turned his black eyes from the ranger as the shriek of the Nazgul rang in the distance. Reaching for his sword, Aragorn prepared himself for an attack but halted as a black rider-less steed entered the clearing. The horse's red eyes glared menacingly at the ranger as Legolas easily lifted himself upon the horse and without a word both steed and elf took off through the forests of Amon Hen.  
  
"Legolas!!" Aragorn screamed in the elf's wake, but was met only with silence. Legolas was gone.  
  
An uneasy moment passed before the ranger would turn to look at his companions. The expressions on their faces matched the same dreaded feeling in his heart.  
  
Pippin was the first to break the silence. "What do we do now?"  
  
Aragorn sighed as the tension left his body. Suddenly the ranger looked tired. The man's gaze rested upon Boromir's body. "We bury our dead," he answered quietly, but steadily. "And then we go after him." 


	4. Last Rites

(Sorry I can't make this longer, but I have to pack for a trip. I promise there will be a new, longer installment when I return on Monday! But for now.)  
  
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An uneasy silence loomed over the fellowship as each member buried themselves in their own task. Gimli was hard at work removing the wooden seats from the Lothlorien boat to serve as a wooden casket. Pippin and Merry took care of packing up their supplies, while Sam searched for white lilies to adorn the small boat with a silent and pale Frodo in tow.  
  
Aragorn had given them individual instructions on what needed to be done before they could depart and that was the last anyone had spoken. The fellowship almost seemed thankful for the small tasks that were appointed to them, anything to take their minds off of this tragedy. Yet even as they worked, their minds drifted.  
  
They would continue towards Mordor, the ranger had decided. "If the ring truly seeks its creator, then there is little doubt that the ring will use Legolas to carry it there," he had said, his voice forcibly calm and his expression cool. The words came from him as if he was merely speaking of how a bird flies or how the shore rolls in.  
  
The words brought no comfort to Frodo.  
  
Sam dared to break the silence, seeing the tension in Frodo's form as he listlessly followed along into the forest. "Mr. Legolas will be okay," Sam spoke softly, trying to bring some cheer into his voice. He turned to face the other hobbit with an timid smile.  
  
Distracted from his reverie, Frodo looked up into those honest eyes without an answer.  
  
Sam tried again. "Those elves, they're good people. Don't forget, he stood up against the cave troll AND a balrog without so much as blinking!"  
  
It was on the tip of Frodo's tongue to remind Sam about the last person who took on the balrog . and lost. But the hobbit chose to remain silent.  
  
Sam bent over to pluck another long stemmed white lily to place in the cradle of his arm. Sensing that he was coming no closer to assuaging Frodo's concerns, the sandy-blonde hobbit tried a new topic. "These sure are pretty," he remarked, holding up a lily and gazing at it admirably. The long petals were glistening white against the healthy green of the strong stem. "It always makes me wonder why so beautiful a flower is use to represent death."  
  
Frodo gave no reply.  
  
Sam gestured to the bundle of white lilies in his arm. "This should be enough, don't you think? Should make the boat look very nice indeed."  
  
Absently, the other hobbit gazed to where the patch of white lilies used to lay. Now the patch was barren save for one last lily. The lily was not as healthy as the ones that Sam had picked. In his reverie, Frodo had noticed Sam skip over it. The stalk of the lily was starting to give under the weight and the tips of the white flower were shriveled and black.  
  
Frodo broke his silence. "You missed one."  
  
Following his friend's gaze, Sam glanced at the flower. Frodo could see the distaste in his expression. "That one's no good, Mr. Frodo. See the black tips? True, it may not be dead yet, but it isn't long for this world." He turned from the flower and started to make his way back. "We should be getting back now, Mr. Frodo. Aragorn told us not to be long."  
  
But Frodo didn't follow his friend. The young hobbit rubbed at his chest where the ring used to lay cool against. It was the fourth time he had done it since the uruk-hai had ripped the chain from his neck and he still hadn't realized that he had done it again. For a long moment he gazed at the wilting flower with a mixture of fear and sorrow.  
  
Gently, he plucked the last lily as carefully as he could and tucked the small stem into the soft pocket of his vest before he turned to rejoin the fellowship.  
  
*************************  
  
As the fellowship labored quickly at their tasks, Aragorn set himself to his own. The ranger was grateful that their tasks had turned their attention from him. The pain and fear of losing Gandalf had been delayed due to the orcs on their trail. Now they had lost Boromir to the uruk-hai and Legolas to the ring and the pain of both crushed him till he felt numb inside. They had to keep moving. The more they waited, the less chance there was of catching up to Legolas before he reached Mordor and the more that the elf's soul would be destroyed by the will of the ring. But Boromir was his ally, his friend. The man had nearly lost himself to the ring but had triumphed in the end. The Steward of Gondor had valiantly given his life to keep the hobbits from harm. The man deserved a warrior's burial, but given their meager supplies the boat would have to do.  
  
Aragorn gently wiped the blood from his face the best he could. Despite the gruesome way he had died, the ranger would make sure that he looked every bit as noble as he truly was when they send him to the river.  
  
"You have fought bravely, my friend," Aragorn whispered. "Not only in your fight against the uruk-hai. You have done what so many before could not, you have fought the lure of the ring and have won."  
  
The hand that brushed Boromir's strawberry blond hair from his face trembled slightly. "I will see that the great Halls of the Kings bears your name, my friend, that others may know of your bravery, of your." his voice broke, ".your sacrifice."  
  
Overcome by grief, the ranger lowered his head till his forehead touched Boromir's. A solitary tear slipped from Aragorn's eyes to land upon the fallen warrior's cheek. "You will not have died in vain, my friend. I promise you, come what may we shall destroy the ring and the great walls of Gondor will not fall!"  
  
The ranger took a few breaths before he raised his head, his shoulders once again square, his face grim but composed as he reached out with tender fingers to close those sky blue eyes forever. "Rest well, my brother. I shall be with you soon."  
  
"Aragorn?" Pippin's timid voice came to him over his shoulder. The fellowship had finished their tasks. There was only one thing left to do.  
  
The ranger slipped his arms under the fallen warriors body and lifted him as he himself stood. Aragorn did not meet the five pairs of mournful eyes that fell upon him. He kept his eyes focused on the nothing before him as he strode to the hollowed boat to lay his friend's body gently in it. Without a word, he reverently placed Boromir's sword upon his chest and folded the pale hands over the hilt.  
  
The man stood, taking in a deep breath, then turning his eyes to Gimli who stood beside him. The dwarf understood his silent request and in his own language he began to speak the dwarven Rites of Mourning.  
  
Summoning the strength, Aragorn placed his hands upon the lily-adorned boat and pushed it free of the shore to be gently carried away by the river current. 


	5. In Search Of

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Twice the sun had come and fallen on the six companions as they traveled upon the Plains. They moved as quickly as they could, Aragorn taking the lead. The ranger was lost in his tracking skill as he read the ground beneath him for Legolas's trail, never breaking his focus or his silence.  
  
The company had only stopped upon Gimli's insistence that the hobbits needed food and rest. Even then it had been a short rest, barely enough for all to eat quickly and sleep but for an hour. The food and rest had done little to refresh the fellowship, even Pippin seemed to be lacking in appetite. The full weight of events was finally taking their tolls upon each member of the company, sucking the life from them and leaving them in an uncomfortable silence. Aragorn seemed to shut himself down to everyone else, working only on his tracking. Gimli continued to grumble about the 'grand idiocy of the elf' and how a dwarf would have had the sense the run when he was told to, but it was evident that his heart wasn't into it. Like Aragorn, the dwarf turned to his old habits to keep his mind off of the horrible turn of events. Merry and Pippin tried halfheartedly to keep up a glib conversation but lapsed into dismal silence when each attempt failed. Sam's normal cheer was dulled and faded as he tended to Frodo, trying to give the young hobbit hope that things would still be alright, but if Frodo heard him he made no mention of it. The young hobbit had been silent for two days straight.  
  
Frodo knew there was no hope. He had seen how fast the Nazgul's steeds could ride. The elf could very well be at the gates of Mordor by the time they caught up to him. The blood in the young hobbit's veins suddenly ran ice cold as a shiver ran down his spine. Even if they managed to catch up to Legolas, what then? Aragorn had seemed so hopeful that once they removed the ring from the elf's finger that all would be well. Frodo was sure that that single hope was what pushed the ranger on his quest without food and sleep. He wanted to believe in Aragorn's words, wanted to so desperately. The elven prince had pledged his life to helping Frodo. While they hadn't talked much during the trip, Frodo had grown to like Legolas. The elf kept to himself but always had a warm smile whenever their eyes met. He had also saved his life from the Watcher at the gates of Moria. To lose him to the ring...  
  
It plagued the young hobbit to think of what would be left of the noble elf when they found him . . . if they found him. The rest of the fellowship could not know of the ring's terrible power, not like he knew it. They couldn't hear its voice. They didn't know how much effort it took to shut it out. No one in the fellowship knew how much Frodo felt himself slip away with each day that he bore the ring. It clenched at his lungs to think of what the ring must be doing to Legolas now. More than ever Frodo wanted to believe that Legolas could be saved from the ring's evil. He needed to believe it, for then he could start to believe that he himself could be saved.  
  
Lost in his reverie Frodo didn't see the large rock in his path until it tripped him. A strong, meaty hand caught him in his fall and stood him upon his feet again. "Careful there, lad!" Gimli's gruff voice sounded in his ear as the dwarf steadied the young hobbit, "You should heed where your feet step. If we continue in this direction we should be near the cliffs in a few days and it wouldn't do to have you walking over the ledge of one!"  
  
Right now, the thought didn't sound too terrible to the young hobbit. "I'm sorry, Gimli," he sighed.  
  
The dwarf gave a huff and a smile. "No need to be sorry, Master Baggins," he replied. The smile left his face as a look of concern replaced it. His voice dropped as to escape the ears of the others. "You've barely slept since we left Lothlorien, much less eaten. It is no wonder that you are distracted."  
  
"I am alright," Frodo lied. "It is worry that keeps me distracted."  
  
"Ah," Gimli sighed. The young hobbit studied the dwarf's face for a reaction. Since the journey had begun Gimli had nothing but words of disdain for the elf, and the elf for him. Even now as they tracked Legolas's trail the dwarf had continued his grumblings although with less zeal. Did Gimli worry for the elf as well? It was hard to tell in such a stoic face but an unease in his eyes belied his fear. Frodo's eyes widened. The dwarf was actually worried about Legolas! "No need to worry, lad. That elf's neck is much too stiff to be turned by the ring." The dwarf grunted. "Ring of evil it may be, but that wooly-headed elf is the most stubborn, most troublesome creature on the face of Middle Earth. It wouldn't surprise me, Master Baggins, if that ring isn't trying to run from him as we speak to save its own sanity!"  
  
Frodo gave a half-hearted chuckle at Gimli's words. He tried to picture it in his mind and it made him laugh a little more.  
  
The smile returned to the dwarf's face. "Ah, lad, it's good to hear you laugh again."  
  
The young hobbit returned Gimli's smile. "Thank you, Gimli."  
  
The dwarf nodded and the two continued to follow Aragorn. "Do not worry, lad. He'll be alright, even if I have to cut that damned ring off of his finger."  
  
"Why Gimli," Frodo replied in mock reproach, "if I didn't know you better I would think that you like that idea!"  
  
"Would serve him right," Gimli grumbled, "Maybe missing a finger will serve as a reminder that the next time a dwarf tells him to run to heed his words!"  
  
The young hobbit chuckled and soon the two fell into a comfortable silence as they followed Aragorn. But at night started to blot out the day the hope in Frodo's heart began to fall to despair. In the light of the rising moon the young hobbit pulled out the fading white lily from his pocket. The petals were growing even more shriveled and blacker.  
  
They had to hurry. 


	6. The Messenger

((WARNING: The end of this chapter has some mildly sexual references. So if you don't like the idea of unwilling sexual relations, DO NOT READ THE LAST PART.  
  
However, I promise that everything turns out okay! . maybe . Please review!!))  
  
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In the cool peacefulness of Lothlorien slender, pale feet softly padded through the night, making not a sound to break the evening's easy silence. Over soft grass and fallen leaves they traveled down stairs of stone to the sacred Mirror.  
  
With lovely, gentle hands Galadriel reached for the silver urn to fill it with the crystal water from the fountain. The soft musical sound of the water filling the urn washed over the Lady of the Wood, easing the tension in her body but it could not wash away the deep concern growing in her mind. The dawn of the morning had painted the sun in red. Blood had been spilt the day before, yet none of her advisors could tell her from where it had come from.  
  
The steady elven hand paused before pouring the water into the mirror. Galadriel knew she could not find peace until she looked in the mirror but her heart feared the answer. What if Ellessar had fallen in battle? A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Or would she look into the mirror only to see the death of the gruff, kindly dwarf? Since the elves and the dwarves had declared each other enemies, Galadriel had not spoken to a dwarf, much less befriend one. But there was a certain charm to Gimli, son of Gloin, that touched her heart. To look into the mirror to see him dead would crush that heart.  
  
What if one of the friendly hobbits had perished? A sudden thought froze the blood in her veins. What if the Ringbearer had fallen?  
  
Driven now by fear for the fate of the ring and its bearer, Galadriel poured the water into the mirror. With a tremor in her heart she gripped the stone basin and peered inside. For a moment all she saw was her own reflection. Then her fair image faded rapidly into a bitter darkness that swirled the waters. The breath within her locked in her throat as grisly images started to appear in that darkness. Villages were razed and burned. Darkness everlasting blotted out the sun and plunged each day into eternal night. An unstoppable evil with sightless eyes moved over the land, slaughtering all in its path like a rabid pack of animals. Everywhere it moved it brought death. Everything it touched it maimed. Bow and steel could not kill it, nor could shields hold it back.  
  
Horrified beyond measure Galadriel tried to turn away but an unknown power rendered her immobile. All she could do was watch petrified as the evil continued to roam through the cities of Rohan and Gondor, butchering everything in its path. Her heart lodged in her throat as the darkness moved upon Lothlorien and Rivendell.  
  
She wanted to scream but no sound came forth, wanted to run but could not move. An icy numbness ran up the flesh of her arms. The power of Sauron was loose upon Middle Earth and was driving this macabre force. But how could this be for the Eye still loomed above the tower even now? Galadriel could only think of one reason. If Sauron himself had not yet returned in physical form then his will and his power must have taken possession of someone else. The ring had found another to wield its evil. With the last of her will Galadriel focused her power upon the mirror, searching through the grisly images for the face of the one who now wears the ring.  
  
The images in the water took the shape of her answer and the scream that lay trapped within her finally let loose.  
  
"Galadriel!" Strong hands forcibly pulled her from the entrapment of the mirror. It took the Lady of the Wood a long moment to stop screaming as her body shook wildly. But those hands that held her did not let go as the voice sharply called her name again. "Galadriel!"  
  
Bereft of air Galadriel found herself staring into the wide, concerned eyes of Celeborn who held her. A million words of warning sprang all at once to her lips, but her gasps for air only jumbled them and let them out in small fragments. "Celeborn ... the ring ... must stop him ... coming for us..."  
  
"Who, melethryn?" he asked, trying to make sense of her warning. "Who is coming? Tell me, what did you see?"  
  
There wasn't time for explanation. Galadriel had to send warning and fast. She managed to breathe enough to ease her tortured lungs enough to say simply, "Send for Arwen, quickly!"  
  
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...Aragorn...  
  
The voice, soft as the night wind, filled the ranger's mind, drawing him from his restless sleep into a state that wasn't quite sleep and not yet wakefullness.  
  
"Arwen?" In his mind, Aragorn opened his eyes to find a glowing incandescence floating before him. The shimmer reminded him of moonlight upon one of Arwen's white gossamer gowns. But the light before him did not take shape. He had heard her voice; where was she?  
  
"Beloved," her voice called to him again and the glow reached out to caress his face, feeling much like the touch of her silken hand. Suddenly the immense tension left the ranger and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Melethryn," he softly spoke, "You bring this heart comfort with your presence."  
  
He could almost feel the glow smile. "I feel the turmoil in your troubled heart, beloved, and wish for nothing more than to bring you peace." The smile faded, "but I fear my visit is to bring you a dire warning. Legolas has been taken by the ring."  
  
Aragorn's moment of peace had left him as quickly as it had come. "This is know. We are tracking him." His eyes grew hard. "I swear by Anduril's blade that we will free him of it."  
  
The glow seemed to match his despair. "And if you cannot? It is of this eventuality that Galadriel bid me to contact you. Beloved, she has seen what great evil the ring will do through him if he is not stopped. It is a horror greater than anything imaginable!"  
  
The incandescence began to flicker. Aragorn could feel his senses being drawn to the real world. The fellowship was stirring from their moment of rest. He too would soon awaken. "Tell me!" he cried, his voice rising with urgency. "What will he do?"  
  
"There is no time," the voice of Arwen answered as dream and reality started to blend and shift. "Hear this, beloved, and hear it well. The ring's control of Legolas is almost complete. It needs him to fulfill its plan. The ring will not let him go without a fight. Through Legolas the ring will sustain a legion of evil that cannot be stopped. The only thing that can stop the massacre that will come is to destroy the ring ... or kill the one who wears it."  
  
Aragorn could feel his eyes start to open, could feel himself slipping even more into wakefullness, but he fought to stay here. "There must be another way!" he yelled. Galadriel could not ask this of him. Legolas has been his friend for longer than he could remember! The ranger would rather give his own life than take that of his friend.  
  
Arwen's voice reflected his pain. "Beloved, there is not." Time was short but she had to reach him. "Melethryn it is not death that you bring him but mercy. With ever moment that he bears the ring he is lost to its control. You have seen what the ring had done to Boromir. I promise you this is nothing compared to how the ring tortures Legolas now. It will make him watch as it uses his hands to slaughter his friends, his family. It will use him to kill, to destroy. You know what such evil will do to an elf's soul." Much as he didn't want to hear, he had to admit that Arwen was right. Elves were pure beings. They would seek death before seeking evil.  
  
Legolas's piercing scream still echoed in his ears and Aragorn's stomach turned as he thought of what the ring was doing to him now. The ranger's head lowered in defeat. Arwen was right. He knew what he had to do.  
  
The light of day slowly dissolved the flow and the dream state yet he could still hear Arwen's last words to him. "Go, beloved. The day is early and you are close upon him. One way or another, melethryn, end his torment..."  
  
Finally the dream state dissipated and the ranger snapped awake. They were on the outskirts of Amon Hen. They had traveled fast, pushing through without food or sleep, pausing only to grant everyone an hour's rest. They were gaining upon the elf and if his tracks didn't lie, they would come upon him by nightfall. The rest of the fellowship were quickly gathering their things, paying the ranger no mind. Aragorn was thankful for that; he was sure that he looked just as troubled as he felt inside for what he had to do.  
  
His hand upon Anduril's hilt, he faced the horizon where Legolas's tracks led. A single tear slipped from his eyes as he grieved for his friend, calling to him upon the morning wind.  
  
"Legolas..."  
  
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(...they are coming...)  
  
The oily voice of the ring played loudly in his head. Legolas longed to cover his ears from its sickening sound but the ring's control of him had chained his soul, his will, and his consciousness so deep within himself that he felt like a prisoner in his own body. He could see everything his eyes gazed upon. He could feel everything his body touched. Yet his movements were made without his consent as if he were nothing more than a child's marionette with the ring pulling the strings.  
  
(...you can feel their approach, can't you?...) The voice spoke again as Legolas felt the lecherous touch of the ring upon his consciousness, like the unwanted caress of a hand upon his throat. He felt the power of the ring like a physical body pressed lewdly against him. It left a feeling of evil upon his soul, like black oil upon his bare skin. It turned his stomach and Legolas could feel the bile rising in his throat but he could do nothing but suffer the ring's violating touch.  
  
Under the ring's power Legolas felt naked, vulnerable, exposed. Never had he known such a hell as this, forced to be nothing more than the ring's slave. The elf longed to scream but he felt as if he were in a constant state of drowning in the dark, sticky sludge that was the power of the ring. And the more he struggled, the more that oily voice would laugh, touching him as if he were a pet.  
  
Or worse.  
  
The ring sensed his revulsion and pressed against him more. Legolas could feel the ring's adulterous touch like a hand upon his chest, leaving an oily trail as it ran down his body to stroke him. The elf choked on a cry at the unwelcome touch and the ring laughed to feel his revulsion. He could feel the ring move against him like a serpent's tongue lapping at his ear and lips as cold as ice pressing to his flesh as the ring spoke again. (...so delicious you are, Precious. How I long to taste you inside and out. You are mine to touch ... to take. They cannot have you! Do you really think they can save you, Precious?...)  
  
At the mention of his forgotten friends Legolas's thoughts drifted from the violating touch. Aragorn! A small glimmer of hope lit within him, easing the horrible chill of his prison. The ranger was close, he could feel it. Gimli and the hobbits were with him! Legolas's soul cried with relief.  
  
Yet the ring was undeterred. The hand continued to move upon him, touching him more intimately to squash his hope. (...it will be nightfall by the time they reach us, far too late to stop our plan. And when they come...) Legolas felt the ring move its hand up his hip to touch his left dagger.  
  
Horror seized the elf and the warm feeling of hope quickly froze into terror. Aragorn was walking into a trap! 


End file.
